


Wedding Bell Blues (and Oranges and Greens)

by VampirePam



Series: Flash Ficathon [15]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Dead People, M/M, Rapture, Umbrellas, Weddings, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2014-10-13
Packaged: 2018-02-21 00:53:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2449286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VampirePam/pseuds/VampirePam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When corpses falling from the sky threaten to ruin Aziraphale and Crowley's wedding, it takes Anathema's quick thinking and Crowley's umbrella to save the day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wedding Bell Blues (and Oranges and Greens)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the crazy fusion prompt: Wedding Day Jitters/Sharing an Umbrella/Dead Body Disposal

Anathema Device regarded the dark clouds rolling in over the horizon with a wry smile. "You probably could have picked a better day for it," she commented to the blond, bespectacled man burning a metaphorical hole in the grass beside her.

"Yes, well, if you had deigned to consult the _Further Nice and Accurate Prophecies_ as you were supposed to, maybe I could have!" he snapped. A look of chagrin passed instantaneously over his features. "Oh, I am sorry, my dear. I'm rather out of sorts today, it seems."

Anathema hoisted herself off the ground, brushing the dust from her long black skirts, and grabbed her companion firmly by the shoulders. "He'll be here! Don't worry so much."

"Worry, me?" Aziraphale attempted a carefree smile, but ended up looking instead somewhat on the verge of a manic episode.

As if on cue, the squeal of tires and mutterings of assorted pedestrians heralded the arrival of a black car of impressive proportions and even more impressive speed hurtling down what could not even charitably have been called a road.

Barely had it ceased its comet-like motion when its driver tumbled from his seat and rushed over to where the witch and angel had jumped to avoid being flattened.

"Sssssorry, angel," he murmured, planting a not-so chaste kiss on Aziraphale's cheek. "Spent the morning arguing with Hastur over the weather report. He insists that he'd requisitioned blue sky weeks ago from the enslaved weather spirit in the flaming oak."

"I might have guessed this was Hell's fault," Aziraphale sighed, throwing his hands up in the air. "I knew inviting demons to our wedding was simply _begging_ for trouble." When Crowley shot him a pointed look, he interjected hurriedly, "Present company accepted, of course, my dear!"

"Didn't you ever crack a copy of _Sssssleeping Beauty_ inside that precious bookshop of yours?" Crowley hissed. "The only thing worse than inviting demons to your wedding is _not_ inviting one who wants to be invited."

"Not to interrupt the first of I'm sure _many_ domestic squabbles," Anathema cut in, "but I thought you might like to know that the clouds have begun to turn orange."

Two heads whipped around to confirm that yes, indeed, the wedding guests of the cumulonimbus variety did indeed appear to be clothed in a rather fluorescent shade of tangerine for the occasion.

"Oh dear," Aziraphale exclaimed, hand flying to his mouth. "I've just remembered. Crowley, you wouldn't happen to have an umbrella in that monstrous contraption of yours, would you?"

"Anything for you, angel." Crowley winked and extracted a large, black umbrella with a handle made of what appeared to be dragon's teeth. "Expecting some rain?"

"Not exactly," Aziraphale replied with a grimace. "But if I'm correct, and the progression of the clouds from tangerine to vermillion means what I think it means, you and Ms. Device will want to join me under cover in five-four-three-two..."

The three of them had only just managed to scramble beneath the umbrella when they heard a deafening crash from the sky and what sounded like a large object bouncing off the seemingly thin layer of canvas above them.

"Is that...a _body_?" Anathema inquired, craning her neck to get a better look at what precisely had plummeted from the sky.

"Afraid so." Aziraphale glanced between his two companions guiltily. "Inexcusable lapse of memory on my part - slipped my mind entirely that the Rerapture was today."

"Today? But it's not for another month!" Crowley exclaimed. "I was sure that it said November on the memo they sent round!"

"Sorry, Rerapture?" Anaethema scooted a little closer lest she be struck by a badly aimed departed visitor.

"Well, you see, sometimes after a Rapture, the boys in celestial accounting find a few...mistakes in the books. Naturally, we can't have them knocking about heaven uninvited, so we've no other choice but to send them back! It's dreadfully messy, but as of yet, no one's thought of a better system."

"And I don't suppose you geniuses have thought up any method of _disposal_ for all these newly repatriated citizens of Earth?" Anathema was looking thoroughly disgusted with the whole proceeding.

Crowley let out a brusque laugh. "It's Heaven - what do you think?"

Anathema rolled her eyes. "If you lot spent less time dancing on the heads of pins or raining down righteousness and more time developing a working infrastructure, I think we'd all be much better off."

A rustling of her long, black skirts brought forth a strange charm, which Anathema wrapped carefully around the fingers of her left hand. "You two might want to take a step back," she suggested - Aziraphale and Crowley obliged as much as the umbrella would allow - before raising her arms and muttering an obscure string of syllables over and over, in crescendo.

Wind from the West whipped through the clearing, rippling the bottom of the umbrella, and dancing around the unmoving wedding crashers on the ground. One flash of purple light later, the three of them were staring at a sky devoid of clouds and ground as free of corpses as is generally desired on a day of prospective nuptial bliss.

Anathema ducked out from under the cover of the umbrella with a small, satisfied smile. "There. Consider that your wedding present." As she flounced away, skirts swinging jauntily side to side, a quiet humming of _Here Comes the Bride_ could be heard.

After tentatively closing the now unnecessary umbrella, Crowley snaked his arms around Aziraphale's waist and pressed a light kiss to the back of his neck. "Pity for you, angel," Crowley murmured in his ear, "No excussssse to get out of marrying me now."

Aziraphale brushed his fingers over the ones Crowley was drumming on his hips. The word he whispered was quiet enough that only the demon could hear: "Damn."


End file.
